


Klance Oneshots

by keithsgaythoughts



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, Cute, Fluff, Gay, M/M, it's just a book of klance oneshots, will be adding more tags eventually but i have no idea what im doing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-20
Updated: 2017-07-26
Packaged: 2018-12-04 10:22:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11553204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keithsgaythoughts/pseuds/keithsgaythoughts
Summary: a work in progress book of klance oneshots. will be trying different AUs, headcanons, and random ideas.





	1. July 28th

**Author's Note:**

> this was originally just a standalone oneshot before i realized that was dumb and i should just make them into a collection soooooo. yeah. 
> 
> enjoy and tell me what you think! all opinions are welcome. it just helps me improve.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance turns seven years old today. Apparently, so does Keith.

Lance turns seven years old today.

At the park, his mother lets him and his siblings roam free, keeping one careful eye on Lance in particular as he bounces away. He has always been the most...excitable.

The boy scrambles through the sand, heading directly for the top of the play structure. He scales the rope ladder without trouble and flops on his stomach to wriggle his way onto the platform. With his feet dangling, Lance turns around and waves to his mother with a wide grin. She smiles distractedly in his direction.

As usual, there is another kid occupying the tower - although instead of playing or climbing or using the slide, the scrawny boy with a mop of black hair just sits unmoving in the corner.

"Hi! I'm Lance," he chirps, holding out a hand like he had watched his parents do. The other doesn't shake his hand. He stares at Lance with wide grey eyes. "It's my birthday today! When's yours?"

Silence, and a shrug.

"Don't have one?"

"Of course I have one," the boy scowls, crossing his arms. "I just don't know when it is."

Lance hangs over the railing and says, "well, you can share mine if you want."

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

His ninth birthday is the first that Keith can remember spending with an actual family - his family. He has been bounced around foster homes for so long, it feels strange to sit down with permanent parents, and a brother, even.

He tries to be grateful because it's the most he's ever been given, but it's not the birthday he expected. Shiro's had been exciting. Although Keith had hidden for most of it, he had creeped out to watch his brother playing video games with a group of his school friends. They had been loud and rowdy and seemed to think that smearing cake on each other was the funniest thing in the world. Keith wanted a friend to celebrate his birthday with.

He doesn't have one.

Keith eats quietly, smiles when his adoptive mom surprises him by placing down a cupcake with a striped number 9 candle, and goes to bed early.

* * *

Lance celebrates nine years that same night, at a different kitchen table in a different home. His many siblings, both younger and older, are energetic. They smile and tease and cause uproars of laughter. Lance's face hurts from grinning. He has blue icing on his nose, eyes wide and bright with happiness as his mother takes picture after picture.

His sisters buy him meaningful things that Lance will appreciate in a few years. His brothers give him silly toys that the kids can't wait to open and try out. His parents let them stay up late watching movies.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

Thirteen years old. Lance is a teenager now. He is invincible, or so he thinks.

Friends are something that Lance can't count on one, or even two, hands. There are always games to be played and challenges to accept. He spends his thirteenth birthday in the hospital with his arm set in a cast after a dare involving two other boys, a skateboard and a blindfold. Lance still grins widely for the camera when his mom brings him a leftover piece of chocolate cake.

Everyone wants to sign his cast.

* * *

Keith is a teenager now. He is invisible.

His brother graduated from high school at the start of the summer, and most of July has been spent organizing Shiro's trip to a college across the country. Keith sits at the edge of every room and listens to conversations without speaking. His parents are tearfully proud of their smart, handsome son travelling to a prestigious school. Keith wonders how he will survive without his big brother.

Shiro makes time to take Keith to his favourite restaurant that evening, and they share a bowl of dessert. Both try to smile and not focus on the fact that Shiro is going to be far away.

"I'll visit during the breaks. And I'll come home next summer for your birthday," he promises.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

When Keith turns sixteen, he doesn't see Shiro.

The night is occupied by a high school party at which Keith is a last minute invitee. He's been doing okay in high school - making friends, and sometimes his parents seem concerned but it can't be that bad because he feels included for once. It doesn't cross his mind that people he knows aren't the same as friends.

There is alcohol at the party. Kids who are older than Keith, who know so much more because of that extra year. The drink tastes bad. He takes it anyways, and takes another after that. It's weird. The room is warm and noisy. Keith ends up on the couch in the middle of a game he doesn't understand.

He gets shoved into a closet with another boy. They're supposed to kiss - but they don't. When the closet is opened, everyone laughs. He walks home in the dark, alone, head ringing with their mocking.

_Gay gay gay gay._

Is he?

* * *

Lance shares his sweet sixteenth with a girlfriend. She sits on his lap in a pool chair at their mutual friend's house, hair long and swishing around her nearly bare torso while she chats with some other girls. Lance doesn't know them all by name but he'll talk to anyone. He likes people. It's just long classes spent sitting and working that he can't manage.

He knows that every girl he's dated and dumped doesn't actually care about Lance himself, but in their teenage years, it's essential for social survival.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

Lance's seventeenth birthday is the first one where his smiles are forced. He's broken up with his first boyfriend.

After multiple girls, Lance started to wonder why he wasn't feeling enough, and he broadened his horizons. He just needs to keep his options open and eventually he is going to find someone.

* * *

It takes seventeen years for Keith to realize that he's royally fucked up his chance at life. The taunting has stopped, but his classmates avoid him like the plague. Everything has fallen into a cycle and he doesn't feel pain anymore.

He wants out.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

At eighteen, Lance is single. Making out with people he didn't care about is starting to leave a bitter taste in his mouth, and he vows to take a break. He spends his birthday happy and safe with his family. In the fall, he leaves for university, and will be one hour instead of one room away from his parents.

Lance is the third child to move out. His mom wipes her eyes as Lance blows out the eighteen blue candles on his cake.

"Mi hijo," she sighs, "you're all grown up now."

He hugs his mother with long arms and laughs because she only comes up to his shoulders. She has him bend down so she can kiss him on the forehead as her baby son, one last time.

* * *

Keith is lonely on his eighteenth birthday. Nothing changes when he enters adulthood. The white walls and floors stay white.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

Nineteen years old and Keith is ready for a new life. The scars on his wrists are only memories.

He got accepted into a university that is far enough away for him to escape his family, but stay close in case he needs help, because Keith isn't stupid anymore. Navigating is not as hard as it used to be.

The apartment that he will stay in is off-campus, yet popular for students of his school. He drives down to get his keys from the landlord and check the place out in person.

Although sparse, the room feels like an oasis to Keith. He wanders from the kitchen to the bedroom to the bathroom with a disbelieving smile quirking his lips. From the window he can see the street and he imagines walking down it in the dark with the city's nightlife glowing around him.

Finally Keith convinces himself to leave. He takes his time locking the door and as he's walking towards the stairs he passes someone who strikes him as painfully familiar.

Before the courage can leave him, he calls out, "Lance?"

 _It's him. It's actually him._ Keith panics a bit as the tall boy looks over his shoulder. He considers turning away but it's too late; those blue dreamlike eyes have already locked onto him. Keith's mouth goes dry. Lance's eyebrows pinch together and _he doesn't recognize me._

"M-my name is Keith. We met when we were kids," he says, staring at his feet, _you gave me your birthday and I've been using it ever since and oh god, I hope I'm not weird for remembering._ "You...were seven."

Lance's rigid expression takes a moment to soften but when it does, Keith can feel every weight leaving his shoulders. "Right! I know you. Uh, happy birthday?"

"Yeah," Keith smiles, "you too."

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

On his twentieth birthday, Lance has given up on his relationship strike. He walks down the road holding hands with a pale boy who has black hair and beautiful grey eyes.

Keith has changed in every way and not at all.

Lance leans over and gives his boyfriend a careful kiss on the cheek, which causes his face to light up. Tonight they will be celebrating their birthday together for the first time.


	2. Closing Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith and Lance are strangers who cross paths in a motel.

Keith twirls his key on his finger, backpack hanging low on one shoulder. He glances at the room number again and counts each peeling yellow door that he walks past. _1, 2, 3,_ and there, _4._

The words drift over as Keith fits his key in the lock, jiggling it a little when it refuses to slide in smoothly. So he isn’t really eavesdropping. He pretends that his lock is still being fussy, taking his time to open the door as he keeps one ear trained on the conversation.

“We’re closed for tonight. Find somewhere else.”

“Please? I just need a room for one night-”

“No, kid. Come back with your parents.”

“I’m almost eighteen. I’ve got money.”

The boy trails after the motel owner like a kicked dog. Keith sort of expects him to roll over for the man, who keeps waving off his attempts. Eventually the kid gives up with a cracking expression. He chews his lip under a washed-out streetlight. Keith finally pops open the door to his room, though he hesitates outside. 

_You help yourself, Keith, you don’t help others. You have no idea who this kid is._

Except he does have a vague idea of who the boy might be: someone exactly like Keith. He imagines that life would have been easier if anyone had tossed him a bone back then. 

“Hey, you need a place to stay?”

He mentally kicks himself as soon as the words are out, but he can’t take them back now and figures he might as well roll with it. The boy’s startled look quickly turns skeptical as he gives Keith a glance. He can’t blame the kid. Keith doesn’t exactly exude friendliness. It’s more like ‘shady hitchhiker who may or may not dump your body and steal your car if you catch him on the side of the road’. 

“The rooms have two beds,” Keith offers, as if that makes it sound more promising. “I won’t kill you if you won’t kill me?”

He leaves the door open as he goes to check out the room, tossing his bag of sparse belongings on the bed farthest from the exit. Keith pokes his head into the bathroom and then turns around to see the boy standing at the doorway awkwardly, shoulders tense and arms folded in a defensive manner. False confidence. Keith was the exact same when he left home for the first time. 

“The name’s Lance,” the kid offers meekly, shifting positions to tuck his hands into his pockets. 

Keith doesn’t know how long he’s going to be staying in this motel, but he starts to unpack his things and get comfortable for a least a few nights. Hanging his jacket over the desk chair, he asks, “how old are you?”

There is a quiet _hmph_ from Lance. “Seventeen and a half. You?”

“I’ll be twenty in a few months.” 

There isn’t an answer from the younger of the two, as he instead moves to sit on the bed that Keith had left for him. He presses on the mattress with the tiniest of scowls. Keith knows that it probably feels like cardboard compared to whatever the boy is used to - but he’s slept on worse. 

“Are you hungry?” 

“No,” Lance says, although he makes short work of a squashed granola bar and a bottle of water. 

Once he’s satisfied that the place is in sufficient working order, Keith sits down on his own bed, crossing his legs. Both of them examine each other without speaking. Lance has a soft, childish face, though creased with apprehension as he regards Keith. His brown hair is fluffy and out of control, eyes round, blue like the ocean. He’s still growing up.

“Where are you headed?” Keith presses, trying to make small talk in the only topic they can both relate to. The question is met with a shrug. “No plan?” 

“I didn’t have time for a plan. What’s your name, anyways?” 

“Keith.” 

“Well, Keith,” he mutters, tucking his knees up to his chest, “you don’t look any better off.” 

The jab is meant to sting, but it doesn’t. Keith isn’t stupid. He knows exactly how he looks. “I left home when I was fourteen. By now I’ve got some idea as to what I’m doing,” the words roll easily from his tongue, and he can see Lance biting his lip curiously, though the boy refrains from any more questions. At least he has some self-control. “Got a toothbrush?” 

“Of course Keith, I’m not a heathen,” Lance smirks and reaches into one of the zippered pockets on his gym bag. He shuffles around, pausing slowly with a sheepish grin. “I, um, didn’t bring toothpaste, though.” 

Keith tosses the tube at him, prompting a shrill of laughter from the kid as he scrambles to catch it. Both of them are smiling, though as Lance closes the bathroom door behind him, Keith’s expression melts into one of concern. He shouldn’t be making this into a game. There are countless nights when he’s lonely and wondering what he’s going to do, where breakfast will come from, whether or night he’ll have a bed the next time he sleeps, even though he has years of experience. Lance seems like a bright kid. His life can easily be so much better than this. 

An orphan. In and out of foster homes for fourteen years. Never staying in one place for more than six months before they got fed up with him. Keith was never meant to have a decent shot at life. If he had stayed, he would have been out of the system eventually, and lost on the streets just as he is now. 

Lance comes out of the bathroom significantly quieter than when he had gone in. He folds his arms tight over his chest, and heads directly for his bed, climbing under the sheets with his back to Keith. 

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” Lance responds dryly, “just tired. You aren’t going to rob me in my sleep, are you?” 

“Like you have anything worth taking,” he teases, earning a weak chuckle from the other bed. It unsettles him how fast the kid turned miserable. He has already promised himself not to ask… “Lance, why aren’t you at home?” 

The figure in the other bed freezes up, sheets going taunt as he curls his fingers in them. “I don’t want to talk about this.” 

“Okay, but if you went back…” Keith tries to be careful. He knows that he’s crossing into prohibited grounds. “Would they want you?” _Did they kick you out, or did you kick yourself out?_

Lance is quiet. The silence stretches for so long that he wonders if maybe the boy fell asleep - until he hears a soft voice coming from the sheets, muttering, “yes and no.” 

Keith leaves it at that.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

He rolls over in a dark room, disoriented as he tries to figure out why he’s waking up while the clock reads 4:00. In the morning. Keith shouldn’t be up for another two hours. With a groan, he props himself up his elbows and remembers that Lance is sleeping in the other bed.

Except, he’s not. The boy is sitting up with the sheets tangled over his shoulders, a phone screen glowing in his lap and casting harsh shadows. 

“What is it?” 

The words seem to shake Lance out of whatever daze he’s in. He jerks his head towards Keith and explains in a watery voice. “Uh, my mom. She keeps calling me.”

“She wants you to come home,” Keith guesses.

“S-sort of. Not _me_ …” he trails off as the phone starts buzzing, a generic ringtone filling the quiet room. “I don’t know what to do,” Lance whines.

Keith crawls out of his bed, legs still unsteady with sleep, and reaches out to rest a hand on the boy’s forearm. He tenses, but doesn’t flinch away. Slowly Keith moves until he’s sitting on the mattress beside Lance. The kid is furiously wiping his eyes. 

He doesn’t mean to invade Lance’s privacy, it’s just that Keith finds he can’t look away from the phone once his gaze glances over it. There are a series of text messages, all from the same contact: **Mama ❤**

[03:56] _please answer me_  
[03:56] _Lea_  
[03:58] _we love you Lea. come home please_

“Lance?” 

“Hmm,” he acknowledges, lifting his eyes from the phone. Keith can pinpoint the instant that Lance realizes that he’s seen the messages, face breaking ever so slightly.

“Who’s Lea?”

His head droops in defeat, and Keith can feel his heart clench at the boy’s wounded voice. “I haven’t been entirely honest with you. Lea is m-my real name. I’m not - I’m not actually a boy.” 

It clicks.

“Yes, you are,” Keith growls.

“Keith…” 

“You want to be one, don’t you?”

Lance licks his lips. “Y-yeah.” 

“That’s it, then. I don’t fucking care if you don’t have the body for it or any of that bullshit,” Keith takes a slow breath, realizing that he’s grabbed the kid’s shoulders and possibly rattled him too much. “Just...don’t let them beat you. You’re Lance. If it feels right, don’t let them take it away. Okay?” 

He nods, stunned. Keith goes to take his hands away only for Lance to grab them quickly. He gives them a squeeze, a silent thank you, before dropping them. 

The sudden silence is interrupted by an aggressive trilling from the phone, which Keith has nearly forgotten about. They both look down. Lance gives a sigh as his mother’s contact fills the screen. His fingers hover over the device, torn between his two options. Keith sets his jaw and gently pushes Lance’s hands away.

“Let me answer it,” he says. Their eyes meet and something like trust passes between them. Lance nods. 

He watches nervously, lips red from biting, as Keith accepts the call. The sound that floods through the speaker is a warm voice, drowned in a clutter of background chatter. The woman weeps Lea over and over, and eventually the noise calms down, as Keith gets the feeling the boy’s mother isn’t the only one in the room. His entire family is waiting.

“Hello?” Keith tries softly. The woman shuts up quickly as an unfamiliar voice interrupts her crying. “My name is Keith. I’m a friend of Lance’s. Just - just listen for a second, okay? You’ve got a great kid here. Anybody would be lucky to have Lance as their son.” 

His words are met by nothing. An aching emptiness compared to the initial buzz. Keith looks up, staring Lance directly in the eye.

“He deserves better, but you’re all that he’s got, so try to understand.”

Startled to see Lance’s ocean blue eyes filling with tears, he hangs up the phone and drops it on the bed just in time for the boy to throw his arms around Keith’s neck, making no attempt to hide the sobs that shake his shoulders. Even Keith can feel his eyelashes getting heavy with unshed tears. 

“Go home, Lance.” 

“What about you?” He murmurs, gripping the dark fabric of Keith’s t-shirt. Lance leans back. His face is messy and damp from crying. 

Keith gives an unconvincing shrug. “I don’t belong anywhere. Life on the road is good for me. I’m happy like this, really.” 

The other boy doesn’t seem to agree. He sniffles, rubbing his face with the back of his hand. 

“I will be happy. And maybe in six months when you turn eighteen, I’ll come and find you.”

“Promise?” 

“Promise.”


End file.
